


Are you a traffic jam? Because I want to break free

by LavworthMyWay



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Puns, Dancing and Singing, Jamming in the car, M/M, Secret Identity, Traffic jam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavworthMyWay/pseuds/LavworthMyWay
Summary: The last thing Peter wanted from a Monday morning traffic jam was to start hollering song lyrics in the car that was not even his and have someone watch him shame himself and then join in on the fun. It hadn't even been on Peter's bucket list to sing tacky car jams with a stranger in the middle of a congested highway. But it happened because life was like a box of chocolate - the content was messy and sticky and could potentially give you a stomachache, but it was sweet regardless.Surprisingly, jamming with a stranger wasn't as terrible as it sounded. Even got rid of his Monday blues and road rage.





	1. Spiders are Creepy Car-lies

Mornings were the brand new start of a day. One would rise when the sun did. New York was the city that never slept, but the nine-to-five still applied, so when the first sliver of sun hit the pavement citizens started to bustle and cars began to rumble. The white-collared clutched their phones to their heads, business lingo rapidly rolling off their tongues. Adults and college students hid their yawns behind their hands as they drag their bodies to queue up for coffee and sandwich. Newspapers crinkled as its pages were being flipped, sharing the latest news to its readers. A doorbell tinkled delightfully as a café opened for the day. Cars honked and swerved their way past lanes, wheels crunching softly under the gravel.

With a city like New York City, ‘busy’ was a synonym. So was ‘traffic jam’. And when you looked under _See More_ , ‘crappy Monday mornings’ popped up. People were trapped in their vehicles, minds desperately budging for some movement yet physically unable to make much of a difference. Already simmering from the fact that it was the first day of the week and therefore the most dreadful, they also had to deal with horrible traffic congestion.

Tapping irritably against the steering wheel, Peter exhaled loudly through his nose, pinching it with his fingers. Jameson was going to give him so much fire for being late for the press conference. Sure, he was a hireling, but his pay could not fill his wallet enough for him to happily turn a blind eye to Jameson’s trigger-happy behaviour. And this pay was already slipping from his hands. He didn’t need the damn traffic to impoverish him further.

Regret churned in his stomach as he cursed himself for not taking public transport like always. But the event was being held in another district; the bus and subway would take much longer. Robbie took pity on him and thus lent him his car just for the event. Peter was fully aware of his hopeless incompetence at driving, but Robbie was insistent and too good with his words (wouldn’t have survived working under Jameson otherwise) that Peter agreed without realising.

With a grumble at the tip of his tongue, he reached for the stereo to turn up the radio music, drowning out his lethargy-induced swearing, amplified by his wake-the-hell-up morning coffee.

_“I’m on the highway to hell---“_

“You got that right.” _Click._

_“Young man, there’s no need to feel down---“_

“Shut up, I can feel down all I want.” _Click_.

_“Uptown girl, she’s been living in her uptown world---“_

“Yeah okay, first world problem. Whatever.” Mary-Jane used to blast this song (both versions by Billy Joel and Westlife) on repeat to the point where Peter was desperately torn between webbing her mouth then hurling the radio out of the window and just jumping out of the window himself to save the effort. Peter wasn’t that caught up with the latest hits, or basically hits from the last decade or two. But with MJ by his side he’d pick up a popular song or two even if he didn’t want to.

Just as he was about to switch the station again, something stopped him and his hand hovered over the button. Peter squinted at the stereo as the song progressed. After forbidding the song from stepping a toe into his life at least twelve months, the mental scar faded and so was his tiredness that came with every catchy hit that blared everywhere he went. So he was receptive. And the snappy tune once again latched onto his brain, causing a series of bodily reactions one would expect out of listening to catchy songs.

Peter lowered his hand and placed it on his knee, foot tapping to the beat. He mumbled out a string of lyrics and bobbed his head in rhythm before he even realised. A pinch of dissatisfaction tugged at the back of his mind, so Peter turned up the volume. The music swelled and filled his ears, washing out the previous discontentment. The traffic wasn’t getting any better and he’s still stuck at where he was. To hell with JJJ. Why not make some fun out of this unchangeable morning woe? It possibly couldn’t get any worse.

Bit by bit, his road rage ebbed away. A rush of joy rolled over him in waves, bringing a carefree smile to his face. Shaping his mouth into an ‘o’, he belted out the part between the chorus and verse and swayed to it. Peter was pretty sure he was off-key at some parts, but the vocals drowned him out so he didn’t properly catch it. Not that he cared.

 _“Just because I’m in love with the uptown girl---”_ he clapped passionately alongside the song, _“---she’s been living in her white bread world…”_

Overwhelmed with an unexplainable sense of exhilaration, he swayed and shook animatedly. Breaking into an ear-splitting grin, Peter hollered the final chorus and gesticulated wildly, committing to the very end and fully immersed in the beats. The cheerful melody reverberated in the car and in his head, leaving no room for anything else.

_“Uptown girl, she’s my uptown girl! You know I’m in love with an uptown girl!”_

Within the compact space of the car, his body moved in a poor excuse of a dance choreography. But who said you had to be a good dancer for a sing-along? Spider-Man was graceful, but he supposed it was pertaining more to gymnastics than dance. The spider bite enhanced his flexibility, not his ability to tango, though it would be a rather nice bonus. Grooving vigilantes probably weren’t as menacing in the eyes of Jameson compared to non-dancing vigilantes. But a man couldn’t have everything. So New York’s menace it was.

Euphoria and liberation pulsated under Peter’s skin. It was almost, if not completely, the same surge of feeling when he swung across skyscrapers and soared through the air, suit rippling against his skin as he tore through strong winds. Peter was lost in the feeling. Lost in the way the music pounded in his ears, in the way he moved to every beat.

In the midst of his head banging, Peter accidentally stared out of the driver’s window at the car right next to him. And inside that car, was a young man several years older.

And that young man was staring right at him.

Peter froze. His face fell.

Incredulity and amusement was written all across the stranger’s face. Granted, a good part of his face was shrouded by his black hoodie and sunglasses, but Peter could feel his judgemental stare piercing through his Ray Ban. Peter was exceptional in picking out critical glances when they’re directed at him.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, Peter helplessly gawked back at the man as red-hot shame crawled up at him and had him in an unrelenting grip. He was a little more than sour his spider-sense didn’t warn him of the stranger watching him, but it probably meant this guy didn’t pose any danger. Just looking at pure popcorn entertainment and Christmas holiday dinner story potential.

Parker Luck struck once again. Hooray. Give it up for Pathetic Peter Parker.

His sense of dignity finally returned like the two-faced traitor it was and he hastily turned down the volume, as if this would erase all traces of evidence.

Judgy Stary Guy raised a hand to his stereo system and pressed a few buttons. Sceptical and still haunted by embarrassment, Peter was numbly fixated on his every movement. He felt detached from his body. It was as if he was having an out-of-body experience, where his soul was freed from his body, ascending past the physical state and observing his surroundings with a hard, unmoving, petrified gaze.

A muffled bass line rumbled faintly and he realised it was coming from Stranger Danger’s car. His enhanced auditory senses immediately helped catch the tune.

_“---iday night and the lights are low, looking out for a place to go---“_

Emerging out of his shock, Peter widened his eyes in disbelief. This was turning impossibly surreal. Was this guy for real? Peter didn’t get knocked out by his panic and conjured this whole thing up, did he? “Are you kidding me.”

Unfolding before his very eyes, Ray Ban Man started making powerful body waves, palms pistoning outwards and head banging sideways. And he looked like he was just having, well, the time of his life.

_“You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen!”_

Childish competitiveness took over Peter, who had this ridiculous urge to out-jam this man. Just a second ago he bestowed upon himself a Fatality and got K.O.-ed by his own moves, and now he unhesitatingly took up Jamming Queen’s challenge and risked himself with further humiliation. He wondered where his dignity disappeared to again. That two-faced traitor.

Fingers flying to the stereo, he aggressively searched for the ideal song to go up against his lane opponent. After several skips, he finally landed on an unmistakeable synthetic beat.

_“Clock strikes upon the hour and the sun begins to fade. Still enough time to figure out----”_

Peter’s lips grew into a wicked grin. Perfect.

Upping the volume, he glanced over to see if he had picked up the music. From the way ABBA Fella froze in his dancing and twisted his head to look at Peter, he had a good feeling he did. It had better be worth it, with the way his ears thrummed with the volume. Damn his enhanced hearing.

A sense of victorious boldness materialised out of nowhere and swept Peter up. Shaking his shoulders energetically like an overzealous mum, Peter swept his hands through the air and channelled his inner Whitney.

_“Oh! I wanna dance with somebody. I wanna feel the heat with somebody---”_

He flipped the bird at Peter, who stuck his tongue out in response. Good luck not jamming out to America’s Pop Princess.

With a shit-eating grin, Peter mouthed the lyrics in his face. _“---with somebody who loves me!”_

Rude Dude hunched over his stereo, switching stations again. Then abruptly, he snapped up his head to face Peter, grinning like a cat that got the cream. A frown etched on Peter’s face, hating the way nervousness nipped at the back of his neck.

_“---ople always told me be careful of what you do and don’t go around breaking young girls’ hearts---“_

“No,” Peter breathed in horror, “ _No._ ”

It was as if Ray Ban knew. He threw a smug look at Peter, head bobbing freely. Running his hands down his body, he attempted another set of body waves which set Peter on edge. Peter sucked in a deep breath and shot a fiery glare at him, fighting the compelling urge to sing and dance along.

“BILLIE JEAN’S NOT MY LOVER!” Peter heard Hoodie Snoopy shriek along with the King of Pop. “SHE’S JUST A GIRL WHO CLAIMS I AM THE ONE!”

 _But the kid’s not my freaking son_ , Peter thought grouchily alongside him as he glared daggers into the stupid sunglasses. At this point he probably should have just retrieved his self-respect like a mature young man and gone back to his own business. But this annoying stranger possessed enough villainy to rival Doc Ock or Mysterio or basically another other villain Peter had faced. Peter was certain he posed serious danger to the world of car jamming. And so Bad Karaoke Man sparked some newfound determination in him, who having witnessed that man using his jamming power irresponsibly, refused to back down. Peter refused to let him gloat his victory with Michael. Riled by indignation, he frantically sped through stations looking for the perfect song to counter his.

He decided abruptly to stop at one particular station. The fading track indicated the end of a song. So he waited impatiently for the next one. The few seconds of silence was excruciating.

An infamous saxophone slide blasted in his ears and Peter immediately cringed. But then he grinned devilishly and choked out a cackle.

From the corner of his eye, Jam Man whipped his head back at him with his mouth so wide open Peter could probably fit a melon in there. And Peter knew he won.

_“I feel so unsure, as I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor---”_

“FUCK!” Loser of Jam of the Year threw his hands into air and gave in. Peter, the Winner of Jam of the Year, chortled at how animated he was and proceeded to show that good sportsmanship by joining in on the jamming.

_“---I’m never gonna dance again. Guilty feet have got no rhythm---“_

Well, Peter had nothing to be guilty about. Except maybe he had somewhere he was supposed to be and he was a week late in rent payment, but nothing to be actually guilty about.

As the outro played out, they leaned back against their seats and basked in it. Coming down from his high, Peter realised how much fun this had been. He didn’t remember having this much fun in a while. Getting yelled at by Jameson by day and getting socked by criminals by night weren’t exactly a traditionally fun routine. He had been so caught up in his packed schedule that there wasn’t much room left to appreciate the little things in life. Even at home, he’s usually too exhausted that requires the body to move unnecessarily. That and he didn’t have his own car to jam in.

Catching movement from the corner of his eye, he turned to see the guy reached to lower the window closest to Peter.

Anxiety sparked within him at the notion of having to talk to a complete stranger whom he had this spontaneous and retrospectively embarrassing jam-off. But there was no escape, so he proceeded to jerkily lower his own window as well. The window dropped down at a torturous pace, like a reverse guillotine in slow motion. The whirring sound of the retraction resembled a dying cry. The kind of cry one let out when memories of the previous night’s drunk escapade came crashing back all at once. Peter could relate.

“Dude, some sick moves you got there.”

Peter held back the frustrating urge to cringe. “Could say the same for you.”

“Not every day I get stuck in Monday morning traffic and hear someone blasting _Uptown Girl_ , look over expecting to see some hardcore Westlife fangirl but instead I see some fella over there with hella good hair shaking it off with moves that make even Tay-Tay blush red. And she wrote that song especially for shitty dancers.”

“Like you won’t dance to _Uptown Girl._ ” Peter grumbled in response, choosing to ignore the compliment at his appearance.

“Oh trust me, I’d fucking dance to that. It’s just that I’m a way better jammer than you are. I’m, like, strawberry jam. Cause they’re the best jam in the world.”

Peter snorted. “I’m afraid you’re grasping at _straws_ here, mister.”

The man let out a high-pitched gasp of faux outrage. “And you, baby boy, are the worst jam.”

“All jams are delicious, what are you saying?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Nah. There’s one jam that’s bad – _traffic jam_.”

Peter burst into laughter. He had to give it to him; the joke was made at the perfect timing.

“Well, guess I won our jam-off. What’s my prize?”

“A kiss from yours truly.” He smacked his lips and puckered up. No longer covered by the shadow of his hoodie, the bottom half of his face was now more visible. Peter didn’t notice previously, but his skin was ridden with scars and it crawled up behind his sunglasses and down his neck. It looked uncomfortable, even painful. Sadness washed over Peter as he wondered how he had gotten them and if they had hurt, if they still hurt.

The man dropped his pucker and set his lips into a thin, tense line. His entire posture stiffened, wiping away any traces of the previous joviality. Peter was startled and even slightly intimidated by the abrupt change in mood. It occurred to him that the man might have misinterpreted his staring and a wave of cold guilt hit him. He really should speak up now. Aunt May taught him better than this.

“No thanks. Kisses aren’t my currency.” He kept his tone as light and casual as possible, not giving any indication as to what he thought about the scars. No matter what Peter felt about them, even if they weren’t unkind, the man was most likely uncomfortable talking about it.

To Peter’s immense relief, Ray Ban relaxed slightly and fell back to his whimsical mood. He clicked his tongue in mock annoyance at Peter’s remark. “Kids nowadays are so materialistic. You gotta have a broader perspective of the world, like money can’t buy you happiness and all that shit.”

“Money can buy you ice-cream, though.” Peter countered.

Inspirational Quote Bloke fell silent for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. I love money as much as the next fucking person, so I’m in no position to tell you shit. Way below than even the last person on the token-wise-elder list. I’m not the right person to be your Yoda, Luke.”

“You’re more like my Darth Vader, though. With all the dark side and stuff.”

“So I’m more like your daddy?” He wiggled his (non-existent, Peter noticed) brows as a sly smirk stretched across his face.

Peter offered an overly solemn look. “Nope, sorry. You are not the father.”

“Noooooooo!!!” He cried out in agony, raising his hands to express his grief. “All I’ve ever wanted was children!”

“Try harder next time. The opportunity will _come_ when it _comes_.”

He fanned himself feverishly like a scandalised nineteenth century maiden who had just been exposed to her first erotica. “Ooh, tell me more, baby boy.”

Peter couldn’t help the pout jutting out of his lips, despite being unhappy with the childish nickname. “Don’t call me baby boy. I’m in college, not kindergarten.”

“Then you gotta give me a name.” He responded smoothly.

Peter considered for a second, then decided that sharing his name to this bewildering man wasn’t any harm. Spider-senses: not triggered. Permission to reveal name: granted. “It’s Peter.”

“Suits you, Petey-pie. Wade, at your service.”

Peter let out an exasperated chuckle. This guy had more cheese in him than Geronimo Stilton. “You just had to give me a nickname.”

“There’s thousands of Peters in this world but only one Petey-pie. I made you special, so you should be thankful.” Wade jutted his head forward. “Um, you’re welcome?”

Peter rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Oh Heavenly Guy-I-met-on-the-road-today, I’d like to thank you for the special name you have blessed me with. In Captain America’s name I pray---“

“Amen!” He finished Peter’s sentence smoothly. “And speaking of which, ain’t the Cap’s ass the holiest thing I have laid my eyes on. Well, second holiest ass, cause as much as I have a raging superhero hard-on for America’s Sweetheart, he can’t beat Spider-Man’s sweet ass. Metaphorically, of course.”

Peter almost choked on his spit.

“He doesn’t---” Peter clamped his mouth shut, trying his best to settle himself. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be possible. Of all people Wade had to rave about Spider-Man’s behind, it had to be with the man himself. “He doesn’t have a sweet ass. I think.”

“You don’t sound so sure of yourself.” Wade waggled his eyebrows again and Peter shot him a pointed look. “Come on, love him or loathe him (and I totally love him), you can’t deny he has an amazing and spectacular pair of spider buns.”

“N-No comment.” Starting to feel uncomfortable with where this was going, Peter tore his eyes away somewhere else. They landed on the time display. Bad choice. “…I’m so dead.”

“Late for a date?”

“For work.” Peter ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Craaap. If I can’t make it to the conference my boss will make sure I won’t make it past tomorrow.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Peter dropped his phone onto the front passenger seat and threw his head back against the headrest. He was tempted to just swing his way to the venue, but not when he’s driving Robbie’s car and not when Wade could see him. So, whatever choice he made was completely against his favour. Trapped in his panic, Peter’s sole course of action was to make a pterodactyl-like screech in his head.

Just then, the cars ahead lurched and rolled forward one by one. The screeching immediately stopped at the sight and a hiss of relief escaped him. Any movement was appreciated and soothed the frenzied ache in him.

Wade peered at where the highway met the sky. “Looks like the traffic’s gonna clear up.”

Peter glared hotly at the cars ahead of him, though they were guiltless and also victims of this jam. It was a harmless outlet of his frustration so darn him if he didn’t make the most out of it. “Well, it’d better.”

“Don’t you think it’s such a perfect coincidence that the cars start moving only after our jam-off?”

Peter paused to consider it. “Yeah, it is actually.”

The cars came to stop three more times before traffic finally let up. The cars in Peter’s lane started to rumble off. The one in Wade’s remained where they were.

Peter casted an expectant look at Wade, who leaned closer to the window to get a better look at him. “I guess this is it, Petey.”

“Yeah. Thanks for before.” Peter smiled warmly. As much as he wouldn’t admit it, Wade was a godsend for his Monday morning road rage.

Wade offered a thumbs-up sign. “Good luck in making it for the conference.”

“Thanks. I need all the luck I can get.”

He missed almost half of the conference by the time he arrived.

Peter slipped into the room with well-practiced stealth, though his eyes were wide with anxiety that came with being late. His colleague who was sent to write up the article shot him an annoyed look at his tardiness, but promised not to rat on him to Jameson. Peter snapped more photos than necessary to cover up his tracks. The members just sat there the entire time and talked about something political that Peter tuned out, anyway. What Jameson didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

So the day was slightly better than he dreaded. Such was the everyday life of Peter Benjamin Parker. After he knocked off work, he got ready for night patrol.

Leaning forward to look down to the streets below, Peter took a moment to let everything soak in. The beeps and blares of cars echoed in the crisp night, interspersed with the occasional barks of laughter. New York at night was just as alive as it was during the day. Peter grew up with this white noise. Taking a step back to notice everything was always a remarkable experience.

And then he leapt.

The few seconds he was free-falling in the air, letting gravity pull him towards the street below as the cold night wind slammed into him, sparked chills throughout his body. The ground was closing up on him rapidly and he shot an arm out to shoot his web. The sharp _thwip_ echoed in the night and he was yanked back up.

The exhilaration never got old. He might have suffered a few more broken bones than he would have liked in this line of work, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world. Not just because of his powers, but also for being able to use said powers to help people. To make people feel safer in their city and to ensure they could keep spending time with their loved ones were what he was here for.

He was swinging through a particular street when he heard a high pitched shriek. Heart jumping to his throat, he quickly swerved around to head towards the source of the scream. Strangely enough, it didn’t trigger his spider-senses, so there didn’t seem to be danger. But it was still better to be safe than sorry.

When he located the source, all he saw was a figure clad in a red-and-black suit. And that figure was pointing in barely contained excitement right at him.

Peter landed right in front of him and the stranger let out a shrill cry – which confirmed Peter’s suspicions. “Anything I can help you with, buddy?”

“Is that a bird? Is that a plane? It’s Spider-Man!” He exclaimed animatedly. “Ya know, there’s a hyphen in your name cause they don’t want people mix you up with Superman.”

Peter tilted his head. “Who’s that? And who are you?”

“He ain’t someone you should worry your cute butt over, hun. And the name’s Deadpool. Merc with a Mouth. You might have heard of me. And it’ll be awesome if you have, cause I’m your number one fan.”

Deadpool.

Tony mentioned the mercenary in passing with a grimace, warning him to avoid contact as much as possible because he was “extremely dangerous, so don’t mess with him and don’t let him mess with you”. The fact that Deadpool killed people for money sent shivers down Peter’s spine.

So there he was, standing before the infamous killer, expecting some antagonistic arse who’d set off his spider-senses so hard he’d thought he was Rocky’s punching bag. Instead he was being hit on and fawned over. Not painting the picture of a scary mercenary.

Peter’s good at listening to well-intended advice, but he’s better at listening to his spider-sense. And they weren’t tingling yet.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Deadpool. I’m Spider-Man, but you already know who I am.”

“Oh, I certainly do.” He said cheerfully.

“Okay.” Haters, he could handle. Fanboys? Not so much. Peter was slightly at loss for what to do. “Can I help you?”

“No, but maybe I can help you.” Deadpool’s voice dropped by an octave.

Peter laughed despite himself. Gosh, he hadn’t heard a joke this bad since Wade. It’s only been ten hours, give or take, and he was already missing the comical man he brushed shoulders with. Only Ray Ban could keep up with Peter’s own sense of humour with his own string of bad jokes.

The way Deadpool’s shoulders lifted indicated that he was very much pleased with Peter’s reaction.

“So, what brings you here?” In all honesty, Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. If Deadpool came to New York for a job that involved killing, he might have to stop him. Whether the people he was hired to kill deserved death or not, Peter couldn’t just stand by the sidelines and let that all happen.

Deadpool seemed to have caught his implications and put up his palms in defence. “I ain’t here to un-alive anyone, Spidey. Just have some other business to take care of. And I’m also hungry, so I wanted to grab some tacos along the way.”

“Huh.” Peter could only manage to say. The weight on his chest lifted at his words. “Well, good to hear.”

The mercenary hummed loudly in response. “Hey Spidey! Quick question?”

Said person tilted his head, a playful grin forming on his lips though it couldn’t be seen through the mask. “You just did.”

“That was permission for a question so it doesn’t count.” Deadpool protested. “Anyway, do those webs actually come out of you?”

“No. I have this tiny little spider that tells me what to do.” Peter raised a hand in an almost pinching gesture to indicate the small size.

“That sounds _grate._ ” He said in a perfect French accent. “The city outta thank you for a job _well done_.”

Biting back a smile, Peter tried for a nonchalant shrug. “Eh, getting compliments from the citizens are actually pretty _rare_.”

Deadpool threw his head back and let out a guffaw. It was a bright, jovial sound, the kind that Peter could pick out in a mass of laughter with little difficulty. It’s not every day someone was tickled pink by his one-liners, especially someone who was supposed to be deadly. Swelling with pride, Peter gave himself a mental pat on the back. At that moment, Deadpool seemed like a more-than-okay guy.

The impression the mercenary was giving Peter was in such complete contrast to the image Stark described. It was throwing him off. He wondered if he was supposed to feel at ease with him.

In the face of emotional conflict, he picked his default route: run away and push it to the back of his mind till it was most probably too late. The friendly neighbourhood vigilante had to resume his patrol and keep the city safe, anyway.

“Alright, I gotta bounce. People to save, bad guys to web. You know, the usual.”

“I get it, Spidey. You go ahead and do your good guy stuff. I’ll be on my merry way.”

As he managed a quick wave and swung away, hearing Deadpool let out an excited whoop behind him, Peter wondered idly why he seemed so familiar. A murky image morphed into his mind, swirling and twisting as he tried to put a face onto it. It riled some frustration when he couldn’t find a match and dug deeper into the recesses of his mind. The carefree attitude, the bad jokes, that obnoxious voice…

It took swinging past two buildings for it to click. In retrospect, it really should have taken him less than one.

Peter’s heart plummeted and he almost misaimed his web. Mind going into overdrive in panic, he responded in the only way he could at that split second. Aunt May would forgive him just this once.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is my first attempt at a Spideypool fic. 
> 
> Not really sure if this should be a one shot or multific, because I have a weak spot for secret identity stories and I want to explore their characters in greater depth and capture their nuances better.
> 
> Variations of the title include:  
> Are you a traffic light? Because I'll be watching you  
> Are you the green light in traffic jam? Because where are you now that I need you  
> Are you my favourite car? Because I'm never gonna give you up


	2. Don't bite off more than you can chew

It was lunch hour, but it felt like a second Christmas to Peter. Jameson didn’t make a fuss when he noticed Peter walking out of the office. Either Jameson was going blind or he was very satisfied with his photos. It was most likely neither of the above because his boss had eyes of a hawk on a hunt and he was never completely happy with Peter’s photos. Peter might have the eye for a good shot but he couldn’t seem to “frame up the menacing side that he truly is”. But it didn’t matter. Jameson didn’t scream for him to come back so he’d take what he could get.

So there he was, queuing up in a sandwich shop and idly scrolling through his phone to pass the time. Aunt May texted him reminding him to eat properly and not skip his meals like he always did, which brought a warm smile to his face. He was visiting her over the weekend, so he should probably starting thinking about what to get her. When it was his turn, he picked the one which balanced out the value-for-money and spilling-with-calories-because-superhuman-metabolism factors.

He was already unwrapping as soon as he stepped out. As much as he’d like to stay in the shop and savour his lunch, he had a pile of work waiting for him at his and Jameson’s desks. Those pictures of Spider-Man weren’t going to be taken themselves. He began to take a huge bite out of his sandwich---

“That looks extremely unhealthy. You might wanna downgrade on the condiments.”

At the sound of the awfully familiar voice, Peter looked up before he could put a face to it.

Or, in his case, face _and_ mask to the voice.

Leaning against the glass wall of the shop with his arms crossed, Deadpool was staring right at him with casual friendliness one would expect from an old drinking buddy.

Peter blinked, trying his best to quell his anxiety. From the looks of it, the mercenary was most likely waiting for him to step out of the shop. Why was Deadpool here? Sure, a man was free to roam around New York City, but in a city with a population of at least eight million, what were the odds they’d meet? He was all suited up, so Peter couldn’t see his expression. Couldn’t see what his intentions were, which was downright frustrating. He now understood why people were so intimidated by Spider-Man sometimes, even when he returned them their belongings from robbers or when he carried them out of burning buildings. That and the Bugle’s less than friendly opinion of him. His imaginative mind darted to the most unreasonable explanations which made his body shudder.

“What.” He sorely hoped he sounded as deadpan as he aimed to be.

Deadpool pointed at his food. Snapping his head down, Peter quickly followed his line of sight. “That. Greasy. Which equals unhealthy.”

Peter wondered if he approached him just because of his less than favourable food choices. Maybe he was on the lookout for people with extremely unhealthy diets. Maybe he was hired by the Minister of Health or something to keep people in check on the ground level. There was no need to panic at this moment, Parker. Let the man contribute to reducing the obesity problem in America.

“Thank you, Dr. Oz. But welcome to America. Grease is the way to go.” Peter raised his sandwich. If he played it off as easygoing as possible, perhaps he’d be able to make a quick getaway. “Cheers.”

Deadpool stared at him for a moment while he ate. “Well, _you better shape up, ‘cause I need a man---_ ”

Peter groaned into his sandwich, though he couldn’t help the grin forming on his face.

It also occurred to him that he found it funnier because it was an inside joke between him and Wade, not Deadpool. And the masked mercenary had no idea he linked up the dots and figured it out. And that mercenary was looking quite intensely (at least, he assumed from the way he was standing so still) at him.

“Shouldn’t you be more scared of me? I’m a big scary man in a big red suit who just approached you out of the blue.”

This was the cue. The cue for Peter to act like he came to his senses and retreat back into the faux reality where Peter Parker the photographer and Deadpool the mercenary never crossed paths. Maybe Peter was just being paranoid and Deadpool was as nice as Wade and coincidences did happen. But Daredevil didn’t even possess a teaspoon of Matt’s niceness and they were the exact same person. And the less Deadpool knew about Peter personally the better. At least Deadpool respected Spider-Man enough to not cause harm to him. Who knew what he would do to a defenceless civilian. So now was the prime opportunity for Peter to skedaddle back to the office.

“Anyone who questions my diet and quotes from _Grease_ out of nowhere isn’t someone to be feared.”

And naturally his mouth was quicker than his brain at the worst possible times.

“Debatable.” Deadpool argued. “Wait, don’t tell me it’s because you think I’m Spider-Man. Because, sorry to disappoint, but I ain’t New York’s finest.”

Peter almost choked at the mention of Spider-Man. He was ringing too many false alarms and toeing too many landmines. At this rate Deadpool was going to shave a few years off from his life. “N-No. The katanas gave it away. You’re Deadpool.”

“Ding ding!” Then, he paused abruptly. “Wow, you know that and you didn’t even shit your pants? I’m impressed as hell.”

Peter shrugged. Even if he was scared (which he kind of was), it wasn’t for the same reason as Deadpool’s. “When you have a boss like mine, it takes the apocalypse for me to even pee my pants.”

Deadpool let out a low whistle and Peter responded with a smug smirk. Everyone at the Bugle deserved an award of service or something for withstanding Jameson day after day. With just one sentence he could make someone question their life choices and doubt their very own existence. Peter had fought villains less nefarious and Machiavellian than he.

"So, how did the conference go?"

At this point, Peter wasn’t sure if Deadpool was even trying to keep his masked and real identity separate. Sure, he cracked a few stupid jokes but Peter expected him to be much more intelligent than this to keep his head attached to the rest of his body. “How did you know I had a conference?”

“You told me on the highway, silly.” Deadpool chuckled like _he_ expected Peter to be much more intelligent than that.

Peter couldn’t muster up a good enough response. Noticing the awkward silence, Wade observed him for a long time before finally coming to a realisation. “…You thought I keep my identity a secret?”

Peter wordlessly stared back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. The eyes on the mask were a white blank, but he felt the disbelief and exasperation seeping through the fabric all the same. It was a feeling he was terribly familiar with. There seemed to be a sense of déjà vu to this scenario.

“I thought that since you know I’m DP, you’d know I’m the guy who had the jam-off with you.”

The tips of Peter’s ears felt hot. Now he was embarrassed for not knowing this. No one gave him the memo, dammit. It wasn’t an occupational mistake he should have made. “W-Well, yeah! Don’t masked people wear, you know, masks to keep their identities a secret?”

Wade laughed, but it came off as hollow. “Not always.”

Peter stiffened upon realisation and inwardly cursed for being so careless with his words. “Wade---”

Said man shushed him. “We are not a charity organisation. No pities allowed. If you’re looking somewhere to have real feelings, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

An apology instinctively began to roll off Peter’s tongue, but he snapped his mouth shut. He still couldn’t help the guilt churning in his stomach, however. Ashamed of himself, his eyes slid to the dirty pavement. Now he was truly at loss for words, though the other didn’t seem to notice. Wade had his head tilted to one side, as if he was listening in on a conversation.

“Shut the fuck up. He probably already thinks I’m a sorry piece of ass. I don’t need you to fuck this up even more.” He snapped hotly.

Shocked by the animosity, Peter’s brows lifted. Was Wade talking to someone over an earpiece? If he stepped closer, he might be able to pick up the sounds with his enhanced hearing. But what worried him more was the way Wade talked about himself. Peter already gathered that Wade had a serious case of self-consciousness and self-deprecation, but it was still highly unexpected and even shocking that someone as boisterous yet feared as he would carry such negativity towards himself.

Before he could get a word in, the masked man turned back to him. “So, was it my melodious voice that gave it away?”

Peter blinked, taken aback by the abrupt change in mood. It was best to go along with it, however. “That and the song reference.”

Wade shrugged, accepting the brief answer.

“So, back to my question, how was the conference, honey?”

"I was late, but it turned out fine in the end."

"You're a businessman? Don't see you suited up that day, though."

"I'm a photographer."

"Ooh. Shoot me like one of your French girls." He struck the same pose as Kate Winslet. "As in, snap snap, not bang bang. You're  _worth a shot_ , but getting gunned down still hurts like shit no matter how many times it happens."

Peter stilled when he caught the implications. "...You get shot a lot?"

"Bullets? In my body? It’s more likely than you think."

His face fell. "I'm sorry."

"It’s not like you did anything, but I appreciate the sentiment." Wade waved dismissively at his comment, but Peter picked up something soft in his voice. It was minute, but it was there all the same. It startled Peter that Wade received so little worry over his well-being that he was acting bashful over brief words of concern about him getting _shot_.

"Anyway, I should be heading back soon." His sandwich was slightly cold by then, but Peter had eaten food much staler than that for dinner.

"Alright then. The world is awaiting a cute photographer for more pictures."

Peter snorted and shook his head. “I’ll see you around, Wade.”

“See you around, baby boy.” He pulled off a lazy salute and began to walk in the other direction.

Peter frowned at the fading figure as he replayed their conversation in his head. If it didn’t pose much difficulty for him to put two and two together just from the voice and their conversation, how did Wade, a deadly and definitely highly-trained mercenary, not figure out Peter Parker and Spider-Man were one and the same?

But that was a tomorrow problem for a tomorrow Peter Parker.

That night, after stuffing some leftover Chinese takeout from yesterday, Peter swiftly suited up and began his nightly patrol. Not long after did his spider-senses picked up something and he swung towards the source of his concern.

It came from a small jewellery store a few streets down. He made out several figures roaming around in the darkness of the store. Though he couldn’t give an exact number, there were definitely more than two of them. Going around to the back, he found a back door and snuck in. It was already busted open by then, which was a clear indication of how those lawbreakers got in. Shrouded by darkness, Peter entered unnoticed by the burglars who were in the busy process of picking open the locks to the drawers of gold accessories.

“Welcome to Judith’s Jewels. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

One of them yelled in shock and they quickly turned to him with their weapons raised at him. Spider-Man was much faster and already shot some webs at their hands before they pulled the trigger.

“I heard mauve is the colour of the season. Maybe you should take that into account when you browse through the glass cases.” He said as he landed a hard punch on the stomach of two of the burglars. Their breath knocking out of them, they collapsed on the floor howling in pain. “I still don’t really know how to differentiate between that and, let’s say, lilac. But we’ll get there.”

The one of the remaining two criminals attempted to sneak up on him for a kick while the other charged towards him like a bull, but his spider-senses warned him in time and he leapt up to the ceiling. The two of them wound up colliding into each other and fell onto the carpet with a resounding thud.

“Well, I hope you’re not planning on getting the jewellery for a wedding. Hate to see you crash it.”

All four of them were groaning on the floor and judging by the way they were writhing they weren’t going to get up too soon. For extra good measure, he wrapped their torsos together with his web before he was satisfied they wouldn’t get away. This was one of his easier fights, which was definitely a good thing. He didn’t have to use too much of his energy and the criminals didn’t have to suffer too much injuries.

From the corner of his eye, Peter noticed a figure peering into the shop through the glass. His spider-senses didn’t go off, so fortunately it wasn’t someone involved in the crime. When he looked up and got a proper look, the figure waved enthusiastically.

“Yo, Spidey!” His exclamation was muffled through the glass, but Peter heard him just fine.

“What’s up, Deadpool?”

“Would say the sky, but that joke’s gotten way too old even for me. I was just strolling round the corner when I heard some action going on. But it looks like you’ve gotten it all settled.”

Peter began to rummage for a phone from one of the burglars. “Just your regular burglary on a regular night in NYC. A _shining_ example, I might add.”

Deadpool giggled. “Well, they got busted because they got too blinded by the _glamour_ , eh?”

He winked behind his mask. “Guess someone didn’t make it _crystal_ clear to them that stealing is bad.”

The giggling erupted into a full-blown laughter.

Peter now had an inkling why Wade hadn’t figured out. The similarities between Peter Parker and Spider-Man were few and far between. Though both had an affinity for bad jokes, the photographer was mousy and awkward while the masked vigilante was confident and outgoing. Spider-Man was louder and more vocal, partly because of the mask but also because of the safety and comfort of anonymity. Peter was more self-conscious and aware of how he presented himself to others. Spider-Man always knew what to say, Peter didn’t.

Deadpool would probably be disappointed that the superhero he regarded so highly was just a broke, socially inept college kid. That would shatter any kid’s dreams to be like the web-slinger. As controversial as Spider-Man was, he knew one or two neighbourhood kids looked up to him. He also built a pretty decent reputation in the world of superhereos to be acknowledged as one of the more significant protectors of NYC, at least on street level. He might not be a big shot, but he was able to help as many as he could. Imagine the shocked and dismayed expressions on all their faces when they see the vulnerable boy behind all that bravado and banter. The thought of it riled a bitter laugh out of him.

After he made a call to the police to report the burglary, he gave a hasty farewell wave to the mercenary before taking off without waiting for a response. Peter wasn’t sure if he could hold a conversation without feeling like a complete failure.

That night, Peter tossed and turned to the image of Wade being utterly and absolutely dejected when he realised who was underneath all that well-worn, hastily sewn together spandex. The spectacular and seemingly invincible hero he had been putting on the pedestal was in fact merely an insignificant, insecure kid from Queens who was just trying his best. His heart sunk at the recurring thought of Wade and everyone else’s reactions to the revelation. He didn’t even feel amused in the slightest way when he pictured the look of comical horror on Jameson’s face if he found out.

The true face of Spider-Man wasn’t a hero. It wasn’t even a menace.

It was a nobody.

He didn’t sleep well.

* * *

 

Peter stifled a yawn as he walked out of the office building. Jameson fired him twice for not producing Spider-Man photos in time, so he would have to take some tonight. The jewellery shop fight was too dark for any photos to turn out decent, anyway. He made a mental note to grab some coffee along the way back. He probably needed a couple more shots this time.

“Petey-pie!”

Peter halted in his steps. There was only one person who called him that.

Turning around at an agonising pace, Peter saw Wade in his suit walking up towards him. Several curious heads swerved to look at Peter, who wished the ground would swallow him up so he needn’t suffer from the scrutiny of strangers and the trigger of his turmoil the previous night.

“W-Wade?! How did you…?” _Find me. Know that I’d exit the Daily Bugle building. Know that I work here._

“I did some research. Work habit kicked in, you see. Good ol’ brain with what brain cells are left in it plus some in-depth Googling were all I did.” He explained matter-of-factly, like it wasn’t strange and invasive for him to stalk him over the internet.

A wave of cold terror swept him up like a tsunami. The raging storm that was an endless series of _what-ifs_ pounded against the insides of his head. Last night’s fears were rekindled and came crashing back and Peter felt like this was it. This was the end. Wade definitely picked up on that and immediately raised his hands.

“Baby boy, I see you freaking out. It’s written all over your face. All I found was your name, your high school and college and your repertoire in the Bugle. And that’s some extremely on-the-surface snooping coming from me. Could have dug a little deeper, but White said it wasn’t very nice of me to do so cause you’re very nice so you don’t deserve this and also that you’re nice enough to tell me if I ask you myself.”

The entirety that was a jumbled mess of information was a lot to take in, but the reassurance was there and Peter felt himself relax by several notches. Afterwards, the bombardment of words was compartmentalised without much of an issue. “Who’s White?”

“He’s a voice in my head, along with Yellow. He makes more sense than Yellow sometimes but he’s not always helpful. Yellow even less so. Great company when I’m bored, but only when they’re friendly.”

“Oh, okay.” That explained why he was speaking to himself the other day. Peter wasn’t sure how to process this, but there was something of much bigger concern. “You swear the things you mentioned are all that you searched up about me?”

“Cross my heart and swear to die.”

“Stick a needle in my eye.” The fear was ebbing away, which made it easier for him to return the quip.

“Which is an eleven on the scale of nada to wow is this the real life.”

A pang of sorrow hit Peter at the notion of Wade having experienced that pain to be able to rank it. But he knew Wade wouldn’t be too pleased with him being sad for him, so he started walking again and Wade, catching on quickly, followed suit.

“Anyway, how does it feel like to be an unsung hero?”

Peter felt his heart stop again and his chest tighten. “… A what?”

“You know, for taking such glorious shots of Spider-Man!”

He wondered if he could sue Wade for giving him constant almost heart attacks. Giving people major false alarms, even when unintentional, should be illegal.  “Oh. Uh, thanks.”

“I’m serious. Bless you for taking such _aytch-dee_ photos and do such incredible justice to his, well, everything. I was gonna say his ass, but I feel like the rest of his body deserves the attention as well.”

“Mm.” Peter’s smile was stiff. In fact, his entire body was stiff with embarrassment. He was suddenly very, _very_ conscious about his body. “I’m very flattered you appreciate my works so much.”

“You should, baby boy.”

Slightly uncomfortable with being showered with praise, Peter’s eyes flickered to the passing cars. “So, why are you looking for me?”

“Oh! Well, you take pics of Spidey, right?”

Peter nodded his head slowly, unsure where this conversation was heading.

“So you know Spidey?”

Defensive anxiety clutched onto Peter immediately. He met too many people, from curious colleagues to shady bloggers, who asked him for personal information about the masked vigilante to not be irritated or suspicious about these intrusive questions. Naturally, he refused to entertain them and politely turned down their requests.

“He’s merely an acquaintance.” Peter replied tightly. “I don’t know much about him.”

Wade’s shoulders sagged. “Aw, okay. I mean, I’m not trying to hurt him. I’d never. I just…”

“Just what?” Peter narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“He’s my hero, you know? It’ll really make my day if I have some exclusive insider stuff about him. Like how magazines always have that ‘Top 10 things you don’t and should know about Zayn Malik’ and things like that.”

Guilt hit Peter like a freight train. His long-ingrained paranoia and Tony’s awful impression of Deadpool raised his defences and riled up his hostility towards him. Peter experienced too many close shaves to afford anyone, especially Deadpool, to figure out the face underneath the mask. Wade was great company, but Peter was uncomfortable with anything more than casual with him. He still was, but he was so blinded by his fear that he took for granted the softer, more genuine sides of him. He thought that Wade’s infatuation with Spider-Man was merely superficial, but now he could tell it was much more than that.

Wade didn’t seem to notice his internal ramblings, however, and continued his own external one. “I think he’s awesome, and I don’t use that term lightly. We don’t even have to be buddies – I don’t even know if he wants to be friends. But it’ll be nice if I know just a little more about him. Like, Spidey trivia?”

“I didn’t know you have a…” Peter pursed his lips, struggling to let the word escape past his lips, “… crush on him.”

Wade laughed, bright and cheerful and unaware. “Yeah. I do. Crush with a capital ‘c’. It’s okay if you don’t tell me though. I understand one-hundred percent.”

The insecurity and trepidation from the previous night crept back, haunting him once more with images of a disappointed Wade. Peter swallowed the distress with difficulty. “What if you realise he’s not as good as you make him out to be?”

“You can’t fake a good heart. Not like that.”

Peter found breathing to be a little more difficult than usual. “Maybe he’s a loser.” He attempted weakly.

Wade shrugged. “Everyone’s a loser at something at some point in life. Spidey’s Boy Scout enough to be a loser, I guess. But he’s nerdy in a cool way. A cool nerd.”

“What if he’s---” Peter was about to say ‘ugly’, but he stopped himself just in time, “---unlikeable in real life?”

Wade turned to Peter and due to the fact he had a few inches on him, leaned over him. “What are you tryna say about Spidey?” His voice was a deep low rumble with a hint of warning to it.

Peter was alarmed that someone would be so riled up they would start defending Spider-Man from careless (albeit slightly true) assumptions. It was ridiculous he was feeling both flattered and frightened at the same time. “I-I’m just trying to say that idolising someone usually isn’t a good thing. When a person’s expectations of someone doesn’t match reality, it can be pretty upsetting. I wouldn’t want you to be, well, upset.”

Wade stayed in the slightly intimidating position for several seconds before accepting his answer and stepped back. “True. I appreciate your concern, but Spidey’s not like that. He’s an exception.”

If that wasn’t a prime example of idolisation, he didn’t what else was. Peter turned to face him, his gaze deep and unwavering. “His information is not mine to tell. But, didn’t you say that I’m nice enough to tell you about myself personally? I’m sure Spider-Man is nice enough too.”

Sometimes he wished he would think before he spoke.

Wade stopped in his tracks and whipped his head to gawk at Peter. Even with the mask, Peter could tell he was incredulous beyond words. Peter didn’t blame him, for he was also incredulous at himself. “Wha---You—wait, you sure?”

Stomping any growing buds of regret and disappointment at himself, Peter shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. Might as well go along with it, now that he said it out loud. “You’d never know until you try.”

“Well, goddamn.” Scratching the back of his head, Wade let out a low sigh. “Doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

“Exactly. But you have to be nice about it too.”

“You think using ‘may’ instead of ‘can’ does the trick?”

“That and ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.” Peter added without thinking. “A thank a day keeps the asshole away.”

“Such wise words, you speak. I’ll keep that in mind. Smell ya.” With that said, Wade patted Peter lightly on the arm before parting ways.

As he watched the strange man skip away, Peter felt a small smile tug at his lips.

Oh, what had he done to himself this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I'm hurting Peter so much in this chapter. It's only chapter two.
> 
> Not a lot of song lyrics this time, but there's still a number of puns. A B C is as easy as 1 2 3, but sometimes simpler than do re mi.


	3. Wanna Swing on a Chandelier

Peter felt like he was most likely the only person in the world who would suggest someone, a killer-for-hire at that, to talk to himself. There probably wasn't anyone else with such low levels of self-preservation. The three-meals-a-day concept long seemed like a bedtime story to him. 8 hours of sleep a day? What a luxurious privilege! There should be an award for being so awful at surviving. Like a Guinness World Record. Even Ripley’s Believe It Or Not would do. At least he'll have some monetary benefits out of them. 

Which was why he found himself looking over his shoulder when going out for patrol. To make up for his horrible sense of everyday survival. It was as additionally effective as eating a piece of vegetable after an all-you-can-eat fast food buffet. 

Just then, his spider-senses tingled and he tensed up. It wasn’t the kind that indicated nearby criminal activity, but rather that he was being watched. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Subtly turning his head so he could locate the stalker without notifying them, he quickly pinpointed their location. It was at the rooftop of a nearby skyscraper. 

Having that confirmed, he leapt from the building he was hanging on and into the air. He swung towards the buildings between him and the stalker before making his way up the one the mystery person was situated. 

Crawling up with precise caution, he peered over the ledge and spotted a figure of bright red and black with their back facing him. Peter found himself relaxing slightly when he recognised the figure. 

“Deadpool.”  

Said person didn't seem caught off guard and turned around with exaggerated movements. He looked like he was expecting this outcome. Peter supposed it was normal for someone like Wade to take into account every possibility. “Looks like you found me, Spidey.” 

Peter hopped onto the rooftop and started to make his way towards the other. “Is there a reason why you’re stalking me?” 

“I wouldn’t call it stalking. It’s more like I was looking for you but haven’t found the chance to approach you.” 

“Should I be calling  _the police_  now?” 

“Cause every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you?” 

“Right on point. Guess I've been struck by a smooth criminal.” 

Wade chortled. “But speaking of songs, I met your photographer earlier on. Cute as fuck and has amazing taste in songs. Not every day you find someone with both sass  _and_  ass.” 

Peter felt his stomach clench tight at the comment. It was weird to hear someone compliment so openly about him  _to_  him. It was weirder to hear Wade liked him so much. Peter didn't think someone as simple as him would mean much to Wade. A “thank you” was about to roll off his tongue on instinct but he immediately caught himself.  _Quick, say something else! Don’t leave him hanging._  

“I thought you like my butt.” 

Wade hummed happily in agreement. “I love your butt, but that doesn’t mean I can’t like other butts. Yours is still the best, so don’t worry about having your No. 1 spot taken away in the bill-butt.” 

What was with some people and their fixation on Spider-Man’s butt? Even Johnny, never known for his humility, grudgingly admitted that Peter’s ass was better than his (“At least my face would win hands-down in a beauty contest. Nothing against you, Pete. It's just the truth.”). Mary-Jane thought that Peter had only himself to blame (“Look at the photos you took of yourself for the paper! It's showing your best assets. And yes, it was a pun. It happens to the best of us. Face it, tiger, you alone are responsible for making your gorgeous butt famous.”). 

“Well that’s a relief. It’ll be a little d- _ass_ -pairing if that’s the case. But you still haven’t told me why you were stalking me.”

“Like I said, looking for you but haven’t found the chance to approach you. I wanna talk to ya.” 

“Mission accomplished.” 

“Fuck, that’s not what I meant. I mean, yes that’s what I want but I also wanna talk to you about other stuff. Sleepover talk while we paint each other’s nails and shit.” 

“Huh.” This was not turning out as well as Peter imagined. 

“We can have pillow fights with those big fluffy pillows and watch chick flicks and B-rated horror movies. Well, we don’t have to do that if you don’t wanna, Spidey. Am I getting off topic? I think I’m getting off topic. I mean, I’ve never had a sleepover before. Hollywood makes it look so good, though I know it’s more stereotype and exaggeration than anything. Like, what if you don't have fluffy pillows at home to play with?” 

If Peter hadn’t known earlier that Wade wanted to know Spider-Man better, he would have been completely clueless with the way his line of thought was exponentially curving away from his actual point.

Deciding he should take matters into his own hands, Peter rested his fist on his chin in thought. “Well, we don’t have to do sleepovers. You can join me for patrol if you like. I still need to swing by a few streets.” 

Wade stopped short in his rant and stared at him in shock. “For real?” 

“No, it’s opposite day.”

Wade squinted. “If you say that it’s opposite day on opposite day, is it really opposite day?” 

Realising the flaw in his statement, he tried to backpedal. “Exceptions are given when you are stating it’s opposite day. I think.” He jerked a thumb at the streets. “Anyway. You, me, patrol?” 

“I, you, patrol. There, ledge, you swing, I fall. You thwip, I splat.” Wade made several motions describing his words.

“No splatting! Why don’t I just,” Peter groaned lightly in disbelief, mildly bewildered that there was someone with lower self-preservation than him, “swing you down?” 

“Eh.” Wade crossed his arms in pretence of consideration. “I don’t swing that way, Spidey. Actually, I swing all ways, so you should actually just swing me around.” 

Peter laughed loudly, caught completely unaware by the punch line. “Is this an elaborate scheme to get a free ride?” 

“All according to plan.” Wade said gleefully.

Peter stepped up on the ledge, looking over to the streets below. There weren’t a lot of people on the streets at this time, but it was enough to easily witness Spider-Man doing his duties. He looked back at Deadpool, the beginnings of second thoughts stirring in his stomach. He wondered if he should be doing this. Spider-Man had an image to uphold, regardless of how the public viewed him. What would others think if they were to see him spending time with the infamous mercenary?

But then he saw the way Deadpool fidgeted on the spot, shaking with excitement at the promise of being all up close with his favourite superhero. There was in him childlike elation that carried a distinctive innocence few would expect from a dangerous killer. And he suddenly felt horrible for thinking like that in the first place. With Spider-Man painted a less-than-favourable image by the media, Peter was in no position to judge someone solely from their reputation. Was this really the same person Tony described him to be?

After some serious contemplation, he held out an arm. “Well, what are you waiting for?” 

Wade stiffened in utter disbelief and Peter panicked, worried that he made the wrong move. But almost a beat later, Wade shook himself out of his trance and hurried over to his side. 

“How do we do this? I really like the bridal style, but it’s not really practical here. Fireman style? You get the front view and I get the back – maximum view! Or misbehaving toddler style? Oh, I know! What about---”

“The easiest style for us both, which is my arm around your waist.” Peter interjected, fearing that Wade would not stop giving impractical answers that were getting more ridiculous than the last. 

Wade nodded vigorously. “That sounds good.” 

Peter beckoned him to stand right next to him which Wade obediently complied.

“I’ve really been a good boy this year, haven’t I?” He murmured in awe.

Reaching around Wade’s waist and gripping firmly, Peter was certain that Wade was one of the heavier and larger people he had to carry in his history of people-carrying. Not that it was enough to break a sweat. Spider-Man lifted cars on a regular basis with  _one_  hand. 

“Ready, Deadpool?” 

“Actually, I would like to request a paper bag before we take off. And yes, I promise I won’t pull off a Mr Bean.” Wade remarked with an uncharacteristic tightness to his voice. 

Wade was clearly not afraid of heights. Peter knew as much. He had an inkling as to what he was nervous about instead. 

“Don’t worry Alice, this isn’t Wonderland. You don’t need to pinch your cheek.” 

Wade chuckled lowly and Peter felt him relax in his arm. “Which cheek?” 

With a mischievous urge to startle the other, Peter pushed them off the ledge without a lick of warning. 

Wade screamed into his ear. It was a shriek of joy, thankfully, but no less painful to his enhanced senses. Still, Wade’s exhilaration was contagious and Peter found himself grinning wide as they rapidly approached the streets below. Shooting out a string of webbing, his arm strained at the tension as they were yanked back up into the crisp night air. Wade whooped with zest, his voice echoing across the street. Peter could count on one hand the number of the people who didn’t shake or scream in fear when freefalling and swinging. Having someone in his arm with matching enthusiasm swinging from a thread evoked a different thrill in him.

There wasn’t any criminal activity that night. A tourist asked for directions and thinking that the two masked men were cosplayers, asked for a photo. Used to posing for cameras, Spider-Man did his usual poses. He crouched and stretched his arms out in a web-shooting position. Deadpool unsheathed his katanas and struck a pose right next to him.

“What say you if you web his mouth for the heck of it?” Wade whispered.

“No, Deadpool.” Peter hissed back.

He could have sworn he heard Wade pout. Not like he would give in.

They swung down the next street. Peter quickly noticed a young boy staring forlornly up at a tree and landed next to him.

“What’s up, kid?” He asked as he too followed the boy’s line of sight.

“My cat,” He said wearily, face twisting with impatient worry, “is stuck. That or she doesn’t wanna come down.”

“Cats do have an af- _fur_ -nity for trees.” Wade chirped.

Peter smirked and threw him a look over his shoulder. “That’s why they don’t like to _leaf_ it.”

The boy didn’t look amused. A moment of silence was shared among them.

“Okay, let’s get the cat down.” Peter said stiffly. At least he had a punner-in-crime this time to share the awkwardness.

“You sure you got this, Spidey?” Wade asked as he watched the web-slinger make his way up the tree.

“I practically do this for a living. But I still have to be careful. Animals can be unpredictable.” Peter stated matter-of-factly as he crawled towards the ginger feline, which stared back with detached passiveness. She looked rather comfortable on the branches. Peter almost didn’t want to bring her down. Almost. Her human was waiting for her below. “This is a deli- _cat_ _purr_ -cess.”

From the ground, Wade snickered audibly at the joke. The boy took in a deep breath. Peter thought he probably wasn't much fun at parties.

Once Peter got close enough to the cat, he carefully scooped her up as he murmured words of comfort to her. She meowed grumpily in protest and began to squirm, but his sticky fingers prevented her from moving about too much. He swiftly climbed back down the tree and passed her over to the kid, who muttered his gratitude. She purred at the familiar arms around her.

“Here ya go. Try to keep her away from trees.”

The boy only shrugged and he carried her back home.

“That was fun as hell.” Wade exclaimed in delight. “I’ve never gone on patrol before. Didn’t know you have to do these little things besides saving people from fires and alien invasions.”

Peter shrugged. “Everyday people have everyday problems too.”

“Have you considered carrying people for a living? I mean, not to save people but like a theme ride? Now that’s a money-making plan I can get behind. I’ll even help to name your theme ride. Oh, oh. What about ‘The Amazing Rider-Man’?” Wade immediately stopped. Peter too cringed at the name. “Okay, that sounded way better in my head. It's eye-catching enough, but not PG enough to market to the general public. Old grannies would have their panties blown off in shock.” 

Peter snorted at the comment. “That sounds… pretty cool actually. The concept, not the title.” He shot Wade a warning glare when he saw him opening his mouth, a quip ready on the tongue. “But the logistics is a big mess. How would a bunch of people station themselves in the middle of NYC without causing a mini chaos? And what if I had to save someone in the middle of this activity? And what if this makes it easier for my enemies to target me?” 

Wade’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Yeah, that makes sense.” 

A tinge of guilt nipped at Peter (who couldn't help comparing him to an over-excitable child) and without thinking he hastily added, “Well, I guess in that case such rides are exclusive to you.” 

 _Good going, Parker. You’ve done yourself in. Fantastic. So fantastic you can make a team out of yourself._  

Wade perked up at his words. “Is that a promise?” 

“It’s not a promise I can keep, so I’m gonna say it’s a tentative one.” Peter tried his best to salvage the situation for them both. He shouldn't raise Wade's hopes for something he might not be able to fulfil.

“I get it, Webs. Not very superhero-like to swing people for fun.” 

“I’m glad you understand.” 

“Well, good thing I got a go at it. Anyway, gotta head off. They’re about to show Golden Girls and I can’t afford to miss it. Toodles!” With a cheerful wave, Wade sauntered across the street. A passing car blared angrily in protest as it narrowly avoided running over him. Wade paid absolutely no heed and continued his merry way like his life wasn't in danger mere seconds ago. 

“Huh.” Was all Peter could say. 

* * *

“PARKER!” 

Peter sucked in a deep breath to calm himself mentally and spiritually ( _10, 9, 8, 7_  – counting backwards was a method of anger management, wasn't it? Jameson should try it out sometime too). It's – he spared a glance at the time display – 9 a.m. and therefore too early to handle this shit. But he got up anyway, though not without begrudging slowness. Smiling wryly at a sympathetic thumbs-up from Betty, he entered Jameson’s office. 

“You were looking for me, Mr Jameson?” 

“I thought you were the best photographer for Spider-Man we have in this city.” He said gruffly without looking up from his desk. 

Staring blankly at his boss, Peter wondered idly whether the world was ending. The day Jameson openly and blatantly admitted that Peter was talented was a day which existed in another universe. But here they were. 

Jameson thrust a newspaper article at his face, chewing his cigar grouchily with a mean sneer plastered on his face. “Now look at this. Another company has found someone better at showing how much of a menace he is!”

Peter’s face paled.

It was a blurry photo of Spider-Man and Deadpool walking along the streets last night. They were quite clearly in the middle of a light-hearted conversation, with Deadpool gesticulating animatedly while Spider-Man looked at him with keen attentiveness. If he wasn't mistaken, they were talking about the conspiracy against piranhas and how they were actually just really affectionate nibblers that never learnt how to properly show it. It was such a bizarre topic but Peter couldn’t help but latch on to Wade’s every word.

Now that he thought about it, Peter remembered sensing someone's eyes on him. But when he looked around, he didn’t spot any suspicious person. And he was too engrossed in his conversation with Wade to pursue the matter. He shouldn’t have let his guard down. Granted, it was just a photograph. He was long used to having the press slandering him, but this time Deadpool was quite literally in the picture.

“Now look at me and tell me why you haven’t been working harder.” 

Peter swallowed nervously. “Mr Jameson, I---”  

With a sharp wave of dismissal, Jameson interrupted his attempt to explain. “Whatever that you want to say, don’t. You’re fired. No, give me something better asap, or you’re fired. But if it doesn’t sell me as many papers as it did for those hooligans, then you’re still fired.” 

Peter was long used to Jameson’s roundabout way of saying things, but he still couldn’t help the indignant frustration boiling in him.  

“Will do, sir.”  _You old goat._  

Cursing wildly in his head, he trudged back to his tiny desk and slumped over his chair. Still simmering with anger, he glared holes into his computer. The motivation to work dissipated like yesterday's dream. Getting told off by his boss was never a pleasant experience, but having to suffer additional consequences as his superhero identity soured him further.

As he continued to roll in his frustration, he heard someone over at the front whisper, “Holy shit.” and then a “Yeah, I know I’m the _number two_  coming of JC. No need to freak out.” 

Peter groaned under his breath. He didn't need three guesses to figure out who he was. He was also past worrying why he was here. He wasn’t enthused with seeing the untimely visitor right now. With quiet resignation he waited for the heavy footfall to grow closer. From the corner of his eye, he noticed him, in his usual red-and-black suit, leaning against his table which casted a shadow over his computer. 

“Yeesh, office jobs look so much worse than I imagined.” 

“Are you gonna one-up yourself every time we meet?” Peter remarked in mild annoyance, still miffed by the awful conversation he had with his boss. “How are you gonna find me next? At my house while you pour yourself the last packet of instant coffee?” 

“If that’s what you want!” 

“No!” 

Wade raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t have to go all green on me, baby boy. Work woes getting to ya?” 

Peter scoffed. “You can tell?” 

“I can see right into your soul. And I must say, it’s darker than a goth’s dream room.” Wade tilted his head in thought. “Tell you what, I’ll get you out of this hellhole and we’ll have some fun.” 

Peter stole a glance at the rest of the office. Some of his colleagues gawked at the both of them in poorly concealed curiosity. He mustered all of his courage to not shrivel under the desk from all the unwanted attention he was getting. Betty placed herself in clear view of Peter, watching them closely to see if he needed security. With the professional composure that came with being an experienced reporter, her gaze was sharp and her hands rested on the office phone. Touched by her concern, Peter reassured her with a small shake of the head before turning back to Wade. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, and the promise of relaxation was extremely tempting. 

“Sure.” He finally said with a shrug.

Wade’s shoulders lifted, pleased with his answer. “Good. Follow me close so you don’t get lost, lil’ duckling.” 

Peter wanted to throw back a retort, but decided to let Wade have it this time round. So he pushed himself to his feet and followed him to the lift. Betty was still staring at him worryingly so Peter made a waving gesture to put her at ease. 

“What the hell is going on with you all, and where the hell is Parker?!” He heard Jameson yell just as the lift doors shut. 

“Looks like your nasty boss is pretty obsessed with you.” Wade said, amusement lacing his words. 

“You have no idea.” Peter sighed in exasperation, mind immediately going to his arachnid counterpart. “So, where are we going?” 

“I’m gonna bring us to the best Mexican joint in this area. Their tacos taste like heaven and I’m not exactly the most religious person out ther---” He stopped short and whipped his head to Peter. “You can handle Mexican, right?” 

Peter nodded. Huffing out a sigh of relief, Wade wiped invisible sweat off his forehead. 

“Okay, good. We can’t be friends if you don’t like Mexican food. I hope Spidey likes Mexican food too. Speaking of Spidey!” His voice brightened considerably. “I talked to him yesterday just like you suggested. And it was the best thing I have ever done. I mean, it was kinda awkward at the beginning cause he thought I was stalking him but I honestly wasn’t because I was planning on approaching him eventually? Anyway, we hit off pretty well after that. He brought me along on patrol which felt like a Bring-your-fan-to-work day which I don’t mind at all and will probably enforce such a day. Did I tell you I was carried by Spidey and we swung across the city? I know he’s super strong but  _goddamn_. Feeling those lean arms around me is a totally different sensation.” 

Wade blabbered on and on, his excitement building with each word. Peter observed him with intrigue. Though Wade was quite vocal about his enjoyment the previous night, hearing it again as a third party made his heart glow with warmth. There certainly was an aspect of ego stroking, but Peter was more touched by how happy Wade was. 

A soft smile tugged at Peter's lips. “That sounds great, Wade. I’m really happy for you.” 

Said person paused and looked at him in bemusement. Slight puzzled by this reaction, Peter leaned backwards. Was it unusual to be happy for Wade to meet his hero? 

“Oh, uh, well… thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck. 

Peter’s smile grew wider. Wade soon got over his bashfulness and bounced back to his exuberant self.

“So anyway, that’s why I looked for you. For being such an exceptional wingman I decided to give you my thanks. With food because who would deny a free meal? Especially college kids.” 

Peter could tell he was waggling his eyebrows. Mild resentment riled up in him but it was the painful truth. The only time he had an actual proper meal was when he went back to Aunt May’s.

“And since we’re on the topic of college, what are you studying and shouldn’t you be in school right now?” 

“Biochemistry. And I’m on a term break now.” 

“Sounds fancy. I wouldn’t remember how school works. Been out of the educational system for a long while now. Didn’t even make it through high school, even.” 

Before Peter could reply, Wade stopped abruptly. He took a few steps back towards a newspaper stand they just passed. Straining his neck, Peter tried to get a look of what snatched Wade’s attention.

Wade suddenly stiffened. On instinct Peter also tensed up. He agitatedly watched the rod of tension that was Wade who remained like that for another second before scrambling to the stand.  A tirade of “ _ohshitfuckfuckinghell_ ” escaped him as he picked up a newspaper. 

Heart sinking in dread, Peter realised it was the same one Jameson showed him just a while ago. He traipsed to him with a suffocating sense of disquietude.

“Peter, did you take this?” He sounded hurt. Broken.

Not wanting to be misunderstood, Peter rushed to defend himself. “I take pictures of Spider-Man in crime-fighting action, not who he rubs shoulders with. Second, I only work for the Bugle and that’s not the Bugle. And third, that’s not my name they credited the photo to.” 

With the first wave of panic receding, Wade had a clearer look of the picture and realised that the photo credit didn’t state ‘P. Parker’. 

“R. Stewart, huh.” He growled. The man at the newspaper stand shot him a frightened wide-eye look and shrunk back in fear. 

Wade was nodding to no one in particular and Peter knew at once who he was talking to. “Yeah, that would definitely do the trick. Or should we just barge into his office and demand for him?” He mused darkly. “Oh, what an idea you got there, Yellow.”

Alarms began to ring in Peter's head when he caught the dire implications.. “Wade, you will not hunt R. Stewart down and hurt him.” He warned. 

“What makes you think I’ll listen to you?” He snarled. Startled by the hostility, Peter jerked back on reflex. His instinct screamed at him to hold Wade down and stop him from hurting anyone, but his rationality and empathy kicked in and appealed to him that this was not what Wade needed right now.

“Spider-Man wouldn’t have wanted you to hurt the photographer just because they took a photo of you two.” Peter reasoned softly, trying to cajole the aggressive man. “He’s already labelled as a menace every day. He wouldn’t worry too much over this. Being paparazzied won’t do much overall damage to his public image.”

But it would damage his reputation in the superhero world. Wade and Peter were both aware of this. Peter had better expect the Avengers at his doorstep any time soon. Or at least as close to the doorstep as he could with what little they knew about his secret identity. 

“But I care. I made things worse for Spidey. Just like everything else. Fuck.” He lowered his head in shame, voice dropping to a low murmur. “We really fucked it up big time, didn't we?” 

Peter stared at him for a good few seconds. There was a compelling urge to comfort the man but he was grasping feebly at options to do so. Peter felt helpless and he hated it. 

Then suddenly, he picked up a familiar light tinkling in the distance. It stood out among the street noise that was of a relatively lower timbre. There was an aching nostalgia to it and he searched his mind for the connection. His eyes lit up with newfound hope when he finally recognised what it was. A bright idea formed in his head. 

“Come on, Wade. Follow me.”

“To where?” Wade questioned weakly. Peter wasn't deterred by the unenthusiastic response, and instead became more determined.

“You’ll see. Now, follow me close so you don’t get lost, lil’ duckling.” He smiled encouragingly at Wade, trying to coax him out of his hurricane of emotions. Wade let out a low sigh but seeing there wasn't much of a choice, walked after him with much reluctance.

Peter said nothing when they were on their way because he wasn't sure what to say. But he did the best he could at that moment, which was to smile at Wade. The only hint he gave away was the anticipating glint in his eyes. Wade didn't ask him either, but that was probably because he wasn't in the mood to. They turned around a corner to see an ice cream truck parked by the road. Children were already clustering at the truck, giggling excitedly as bright grins stretched across from ear to ear, their hands outstretched with coins. The lady inside the truck returned them with an equally radiant smile as she prepared the cold treats for them.

Wade turned to Peter in tired confusion.

“I don’t…”

Peter smirked knowingly. “Remember what I said about how money can buy you ice-cream and how ice cream makes us feel?” 

Letting the words sink in, Wade tilted his head downwards. Peter stared at him with nervous anticipation, desperately hoping for his plan to work. Just when he feared that he had failed, Wade looked up, eyes set on the truck in fierce determination. 

“I’m gonna buy all the happiness this motherfucking ice cream truck has to offer.” 

“Whoa, save some for me.” Peter said lightly, relief settling upon him. Whoever said that ice cream was a childish treat was probably a bitter person who never realised that adults were actually the ones who needed something to sweeten their lives. Even Uncle Ben wouldn’t pass the opportunity to have some ice cream.

At the memory of his loving uncle and his sweet tooth, a soft smile graced his lips.

Wade silently observed him in puzzlement.

“Why are you so nice?” 

Unsure of how to answer him, Peter responded in the only way he could when being put in a difficult spot.

“You think _I’m_ nice? You clearly haven’t met my aunt. Which you haven’t.” 

Which was to divert the question. 

Regardless, Peter grinned. There was something more important right now. “C’mon. Let’s go make an ice cream woman happy.”

* * *

“So, how did you and Spidey meet?” Wade asked through a large mouthful of taco. They had headed to the Mexican joint as originally planned after their dessert detour. 

This was a question he was quite familiar with, so he had a ready answer at hand. “I was fifteen and I was in desperate need of cash. The Daily Bugle offered to pay some good moolah for pictures of Spider-Man. Bumped into Spider-Man by pure and downright lucky coincidence. He didn’t mind helping out a brother in need and the rest’s history.” 

Wade chuckled heartily. “That’s so him to do that. Is that why your photos turn out the best among all other photos of Spidey? You practically monopolised the market of Spidey pictures.” 

Peter frowned. “I didn’t monopolise the market, and there is no such market. There are so many pictures and videos of him online.” 

“Still, you’re the cream of the crop, baby boy.” 

A little shy with the unabashed compliment, Peter could only shrug.

“So, about Spider-Man, are you gonna look for him again?” 

“Nope.” The answer was immediate.

Peter swallowed his food and his disappointed surprise. “Oh?” 

Wade shrugged, clearly harbouring a far greater amount of dejection than Peter’s. “After that photo by that oh so lovely R. Stewart, I don’t think that Spidey should be seen with me. I know my reputation; I built it and _revelled_  in it. I don’t wanna drag Spidey down.” 

Even with the mask, Peter could see the self-deprecating anguish on his face. “Wade---” 

“Again, no pities allowed.” 

“No, Wade.” Peter reached out instinctively for his hand. Wade flinched at the sudden contact, but made no move to pull away. “You don’t have the best reputation, I agree. But whether Spider-Man wants to see you again because of the paper is for him to decide. You don’t decide what he feels about this.”

Peter bore his eyes pleadingly into Wade’s, making sure his message was sent across properly. He couldn’t bear to see him burden himself with all the blame. Besides, it was Peter who suggested having Wade tag along for patrol, so technically it was Peter’s fault. But now wasn’t the time to point fingers.

Wade was silent for a moment, pondering deeply over his words.

“You're right, Petey.” He murmured, slightly stunned. Peter softened at this response.

“Glad you think so.” Peter said as he took the last bite of his taco. It was certainly as delicious as Wade hyped it up to be. He didn’t even know there was a gem like this near his workplace.

Glancing at his phone and cursing under his breath, he hastily made his goodbyes and hurried back to the office. Peter apologised for not being able to keep him company longer, but Wade waved him away understandingly.

“Oh, and Wade?” Peter said hastily right after he scooted out of the booth.

“Yeah, baby boy?”

“Remember what I said.”

“Which part?”

He smiled kindly. “Everything.”

He didn’t wait for a response and left, though he didn’t hear Wade make one either.

When he finally made it back to the office, Robbie caught him sneaking in and smirked in amusement. Suspicion slithering its way into his imagination, Peter stared at him apprehensively.

“How many times had Jameson fired me while I was gone?” He dared himself to ask.

“None, when he realised you went off with that man. He thinks you're interviewing him about Spider-Man.” 

Oh, shit. Peter much rather Jameson yell at him for skipping work than use him to write the articles. Peter didn’t like putting people under a negative light, much less himself. The photographs were something he could control. The articles, on the other hand, wouldn’t be passed on to a photographer.

“Parker! In my office. Now!”

Grimacing at the demand from the last person he wanted to see right now, Peter casted Robbie a dreaded look, who returned a sympathetic one. What's with people and giving him sympathy today?

With a heavy heart, Peter dragged himself into the room. Jameson greeted Peter with a wicked grin on his face. 

“Terrific job, Parker. Why didn't you say so earlier that you were meeting that masked man?” 

Peter averted his gaze from his boss to the window behind him. How he wished he was out in the streets instead. “I, er, didn't know he was coming.” 

He leaned forward, eager for some exclusive information. His eyes glinted with impatient interest. “So tell me boy, what did he have to say about Spider-Man?”

Taking in a large breath, Peter prepared himself for the worse. “All good things, actually. They had a decent chat and went on patrol together. And they---” 

Jameson held up a hand, cutting him off. “Not what I want to hear. And the bad parts?” 

Peter pressed his lips into a tense line. “Not that I can think of.” 

“Funny, cause there's a lot I can think of.” He sighed, disappointed. “Should've expected that, anyway, since they're both freaks.” 

Peter's hand curled into a tight fist. Upon the realisation that there was no dirt to dig up about the masked vigilante, Jameson dismissed him. Peter was glad he did. He didn’t trust himself to say anything civil to Jameson if he was to stand there for a second longer. It was at moments like this which made Peter detest Jameson very much. Sure, he cared for his employees sometimes in his frustratingly difficult way, but his obsession to antagonise Spider-Man was outraging.

When Peter got back to work, he found that his mind wouldn’t stop drifting away to the mercenary with a fragile heart. The delicate side that remained hidden from most, because people rarely noticed silence if there was noise to smother it.

It was a pretty good patrol that night. He stopped a bunch of bank robbers, and in his need to vent his frustration he put a bit more strength than usual in his punches. He felt a little bad for them but at least there were no broken bones. He had a good feeling the photos turned out quite satisfactory, which raised his spirits considerably.

But there was no sign of Deadpool the entire time. Peter assumed that it just so happened their paths didn’t cross as coincidentally as the previous times, but he couldn’t stop the thought that it was intentional this time.

* * *

When he walked into the office the next morning, the first person to greet him was Betty. She looked up from her work to send a smile his way, but Peter couldn’t help but notice the playful quirk to it.

Slowing down in his movements, Peter gaped warily at her and strained to see what she was hinting at. But she didn’t say anything else and resumed working. He started to feel the first slivers of panic. “What?”

“See for yourself, Peter.” Refusing to give anything away, that was all she replied. 

Betty would never mean him any harm, but it didn't make him any less suspicious. He made his way to his desk at a torturous pace. Numerous thoughts as to what awaited him popped in his head. The most likely thing was a prank, which made him even more cautious. But his spider-senses weren’t tingling. So what was it?

When he finally reached his desk, it was nothing like he expected to be. Placed thoughtfully on it were two bouquets of flowers. In one bouquet, there was a combination of peach roses, red carnations and hydrangeas. The other bouquet had purple irises, yellow roses and white tulips. Attached to the bouquets were two cards – the former one addressed to Peter and latter to Spider-Man. With intrigued surprise, he picked up the former one. Below the neat cursive was a hastily yet cutely drawn picture of Peter with an ice cream cone. 

 _Hey, Petey-pie. I just asked the florist for flowers that meant ‘You're hot and you're cool, you're yes and you're yes’ so hopefully she got the right kind. And uh, I never got to thank you for yesterday? I don't really know how to put it to words, so I guess this is what the flowers are for. I don't do flowery words so I let the flowers do the words. I don't usually send flowers though, but flowers are pretty! And they do the trick. Shit, is it too late to hope that you’re not allergic? Anyway, can you pass the other bouquet to Spidey on my behalf? Is this what they call a gesture of apology? Whatever. Thanks for helping out a bro._  

Peter bit back a grin as he read it. He hadn’t received gestures like this for as long as he could remember. Wasn’t that a cliché as well, to come to work with a bouquet of flowers waiting for you? He wasn’t surprised if Wade specifically picked this method for this reason.

His eyes fell on the other card. Curiosity gnawing at him, he finally picked it up for a read. There was a doodle of Spider-Man on it.

 _Sup, Spidey. It’s your unfriendly international Pool-man. I’m guessing you've already read the paper about us. They're a shitty company, anyway. Stewart's a dumbass. But it's kinda my fault I got you into this mess. It was a great one-night stand, but I won't bother you anymore, don't you worry. Wouldn't want you to get into further trouble with Tin Man and Cap. I guess ‘The Amazing Rider-Man’ is closed for the time being. It was fun while it lasted._  

Guilt sat on him and grew heavier the more he read it. He was hoping Wade wouldn’t blame himself for what happened, but he should have known better it wasn’t an issue that could be solved with a snap of the fingers.

“Breaking news, everyone.” Robbie announced, interrupting Peter from his train of thoughts. “Some supervillain on the loose at 6th street. Parker, Parsec, you're up.” 

Time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say, thank you so much for reading my story. I know we're only three chapters in, but reading your positive comments made me really happy. You motivate me to continue this story, and I want to thank you for it.
> 
> So anyway, Peter is being an awkward baby as usual and Wade deserves a hug.


End file.
